


Date Night.

by notanotherfanartist



Series: Benedict Cumberbatch Imagines [3]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:59:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2656265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notanotherfanartist/pseuds/notanotherfanartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine you were on a date with Benedict Cumberbatch but he fails to show up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Date Night.

Imagine you were on a date night with Benedict, but he failed to show up.

Today was your monthly date night, or as close to a monthly date night as you could get with Benedict. He'd chosen a swavvy restaurant in London and booked a table. He was currently filming for season 4 of Sherlock so he called to tell you to meet him there for 8pm as he wouldn't be able to make it home to change and get to the restaurant on time. 

You picked out your favourite black, floor length dress, and matched it with black pumps and smoky make-up. Looking at the time, you saw it was 7:30pm, so you called a taxi, giving Ben a quick text after to let him know that you were on your way.  
You were a little nervous, although you don't know why, so you grabbed yourself a quick class of wine to help calm you, hearing the cab outside beep it's arrival, you left what dregs remained and left your flat, making sure to lock up thoroughly 

You arrived at the resturant at 7:55pm, paying the driver, you slowly got out, making your way to the door. Nipping out you phone, you text Ben, telling him you had arrived. You hadn't heard anything from the last text, which although a little strange, didn't bug you because you knew that he may have only finished filming. Putting your phone away, you walked inside, meeting the welcoming guy. 

"Table for 2 under the name of Cumberbatch?" 

"Right this way. Your companion hasn't arrived yet." He said, showing you to your table, which was, to your relieve, slightly hidden in a corner. "Would you like any drinks?" He asked, after you took your seat. 

"Just a glass of red wine please" 

The waiter arrived with your glass and asked if you were ready to order.  
"Not yet. I'm just waiting for my boyfriend to arrive." By this time you had already been in the restaurant for 10 minutes. You knew Ben had a tendency to be late, so you weren't worried just yet. 

"Okay madam, Just signal when you would like a menu brought over." 

30 Minutes and 2 more glasses of wine later, Benedict still hadn't turned up. Looking at your phone, you saw no texts or calls from Ben, so you decided to call him. No answer. You decided to order something small, so you called a waiter for a menu and ordered a Caesar salad with a glass of water.  
Your salad and water arrived 15 minutes later, making the time 8: 55. An hour since you arrived at the restaurant. Deciding to give Ben another 15 minutes, you slowly ate your salad, tears prickling at your eyes at the thought that your own boyfriend had stood you up. 

You knew you were probably going to have a full, blown crying session so you called for the check and asked if they could order you a taxi home. The staff taking pity on you, knowing that your date had stood you up, offered you a free bottle of champagne, which you reluctantly accepted. 

Getting in the taxi home, you tried your best not to cry, giving Ben one last phone call. As usual for the night, he wasn't answering, so you left him a voicemail. 

"Thank you Ben, for that wonderful date night. The food there was amazing, which i'm sure you would have liked, if you had bothered to bloody show up. I felt like a right idiot sat there on my own. So thank you again for the lovely night. If you bother to come back to the flat tonight, you're on the sofa. Goodnight Ben. "

By the end of the voicemail, you were crying. Arriving at your flat, you paid the driver, and quickly got out, unlocking the front door and practically ran into the flat. With the tears and make-up running down your face, you locked the door, walked to your bedroom, changed into your Pajamas. You washed your make-up off in the bathroom, and returned to the bedroom. Crawling into the bed, you cried til your tear ducts were dry and fell asleep.


End file.
